Stay With Me
by ermireallydontcare
Summary: Carlisle makes an impulsive decision that changes everything. The story of what would have happened if he had found himself unable to leave Esme behind in Ohio. AU.
1. Prologue

**So this is an idea I've been considering for awhile and have finally decided to write. For those of you who have read my other CxE stories this will be a little different to my usual Carlisle and Esme.**

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

It was unforgivable. One tiny second of weakness and he had washed away everything he had ever stood for. He should have let her go home with her father, but he had not and now she never would. He had known he was tempting fate when he give the order for her to stay over night at the hospital. Despite what he had told her flustered father, it was not standard hospital procedure. He should have stopped himself there and then. But it was too late to tell himself that now. What was done was done and could now never be reversed.

She whimpered on his bed slightly and he risked a glance in her direction. He wished he hadn't. For some reason, he had chosen to lay her under the blanket when he brought her back. How bizarre it looked. Not just to have a human in his house, but to have somebody actually using his bed. She was laid fairly still now, but the blanket was twisted around her from her earlier thrashing, and one of her legs was sticking out awkwardly. He would have to remove the plaster that surrounded it, she would certainly no longer need it.

But the worst thing of all was that she looked so young. Too young. Barely an adult. And now she would never be anything but young.

What had he done? What had he been thinking? Why her? He had seen so many patients come and go. Some who survived and some who did not. So why, out of all of them, had he chosen to give this tainted gift to her? She had not even been dying. It was just a broken leg – six weeks of discomfort and she would have been fine. Even in his darkest moments he had never considered changing a healthy human before. This made him no better than his former companions in Italy - taking away a life to gain what he wanted.

What on Earth had possessed him back in the hospital? When he had stood up from the seat beside her and leant over her bed? There could be no denying what he planned to do. She had moaned ever so gently in her sleep as his lips came tentatively close to her neck. No doubt she had felt his breath blowing against her skin. She had turned over in her sleep, so that she had been facing him. A caramel curl had flown across her face as she did so. Hesitantly, he had lifted it up and ever so gently laid it back over her shoulder with the rest of her hair.

_Go_, he had told himself forcefully. _Leave. Now._

But instead all he had done was sigh deeply, agreeing with his thoughts and yet still not taking his eyes off of her as she slept. She had settled down again now, her facial expressions were peaceful. He remembered her smiling at him as he talked to her earlier. But it had been the things that she had said that truly captivated his attention. She spoke with such energy, such passion, about her home, her family, her brother and sister, and her pet dog. All things she evidently cared about. Oh how he wished someone could care about him like that. That he could return home to a smiling face and a simple 'hello, how was your day?' Her words battered and bruised his lonely heart, leaving him feeling like just an empty shell of a person. For he was just her doctor and she would never care about him. That fact was also true for the last thousand patients before her and would be true for the next thousand patients that followed.

She gave to everyone what he could never have: love.

The bed came into focus again as he forced the memories away. His bed this time, not the hospital one she had slept on in his memories. Suddenly her whole body jolted and she screamed in alarm.

"It hurts," she whimpered. "It hurts so much."

Fervently, he called her name but there was no reply. She screamed incoherently for awhile and then fell silent once more. He wanted to talk to her. To explain his actions. But no words fell forth from his lips. He couldn't find the right ones. How to tell her what he had done? And what would she think when she knew the truth?

He found the words she had muttered to him the night before tumbling from his lips.

It had taken all his willpower but he had managed to make it to her doorway. He would leave her be now. She would leave the hospital tomorrow and he would leave town, go somewhere far away from the temptation of her.

But he had stopped when he heard her breathing change. She was waking up. He had frozen in the doorway, torn between what he knew was right and what he wanted. He heard her inhale sharply.

"Don't go," she had called sleepily. "Stay with me."

People often marvelled at his supposed extraordinary self-control, but with five words she had swept it all away. How could he possibly leave now, when she was begging him to stay?

"Always," he had whispered in reply.


	2. The Tree

"Sophie!" Esme shouted her little sister's name as the young girl began her climb up the tree. Esme's legs were taking her towards her sister as fast as they could. "Sophie, don't, wait." She tried to make herself sound as stern possible. Despite that, she was well aware that her shouting was pointless. Now that Sophie had started on her mission she would determinedly follow it through to the end.

Out of breath, Esme finally made it to the base of the tree. She looked upwards towards her sister's determined face as she continued to climb towards her target – the mewling cat stuck in the top-most branches.

Beside Esme the family dog, Spot, continued to bark madly. His beady eyes were focused on the stranded cat. It was Spot who had started all this commotion in the first place. All three Platt siblings had been sat in the grass when the cat had first appeared. As soon as Spot spotted it he had abandoned his place beside Esme in favour of chasing after it, but the wily creature had soon escaped up the tree.

The Platt siblings had all made vain attempts to call Spot back, but all three of them were unsurprised when the dog didn't respond.

Esme knew she should have spotted trouble on the horizon the second that Sophie had announced she was going to go and check the cat was OK. But the sun had been so warm and her book so engaging that she did not have the motivation to follow her little sister. Besides, John had said he would go and watch her. How much trouble could she get into with John, of all people, watching?

"I did try and stop her, Esme," John told her earnestly, as though afraid of reproach.

"I know, John," Esme muttered, her eyes still on her sister. She had heard her younger brother's shouts from where she had been sat reading. Upon seeing what her little sister intended to do, she had thrown her book aside and ran towards the tree. But it had been too late.

"Oh, do be careful, Sophie," she fretted, watching her sister with a worried expression on her face. Her sister simply laughed merrily and swung from one branch to another. Her long blonde hair blew around her and Esme feared it would get tangled in one of the branches. Esme noted that she had lost her ribbons again, as usual, but she was more amused than annoyed. Her sister was one of the most carefree and mischievous people Esme had ever known, even at the tender age of just six years old. Esme had not seen the young girl throw a tantrum since she had been a toddler, she took all news and punishment in her stride. And with Sophie it seemed that she was always doing something that would end up with her in need of punishment. Their mother always claimed Sophie was more trouble than Esme and John had been combined. For she applied the same carefree attitude to rules. She found ways to sneak into the farmhouse and unsettle all the animals. She had broken countless objects through her curiosity. She was the exactly the sort of child who would climb a tree to rescue a cat despite both her older siblings telling her not to.

"If Mother sees you you're going to be in so much trouble," John called up sternly to his sister. Esme knew it was said more out of concern than as a reprimand. She briefly pulled her graze from her sister to study John's serious face as he watched his youngest sister's latest antics. Tall, gangly, and bespectacled, John had that look that so many teenaged boys had, as if he'd been squeezed through their mother's wringer and hadn't quite readjusted to his new body yet. His voice kept swapping between high-pitched and deep, to his younger sister's great amusement and his embarrassment. Anyone who looked at Sophie and John would not have guessed they were siblings. Sophie was a true blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty, while John was a rather plain looking brunette. They were as apart in temperament as they were looks. John was a straight-laced lad who took any task given to him seriously, whether it was schoolwork or helping his father in the fields. He was as unlike his impish little sister as it was possible to be.

Esme liked to think of herself as somewhere between the two of them. She only misbehaved occasionally and usually for what she considered a good cause. Such as helping sneak Spot upstairs to sleep on her bed despite her father's persistent orders that the dog would sleep in the kennel they had purchased. As the oldest she liked to think that, when the situation required it, she was the most sensible, even more so than her younger brother. For John's love of rules often over-ruled his common sense. Esme always said that sometimes you had to bend the rules slightly to do the most sensible thing possible.

Her father liked to call her 'his ray of sunshine' a nickname that had stuck since she was a child, because, according to her father at least, she was kind to everyone she met. Esme wasn't certain she agreed with her father on that point. There could be no denying she had her mother's temper. Rose Platt was not the sort of woman who screamed and stamped her foot, she had too much dignity for that, but she had perfected the art of the cold shoulder. Rose's real skill, however, was her ability to have complete control over their entire household without her husband ever noticing. She had told her oldest daughter, who was so vapidly approaching womanhood, that 'a man may be the head of a house, but a woman is its heart' before deciding that Esme had the perfect temperament for a woman. A caring nature coupled with the desire to do whatever was necessary to protect.

"Oh, Sophie, do come down!" John's calls were getting more desperate and pleading. He glanced back anxiously at the farmhouse, obviously hoping neither of their parents were about to make an appearance.

Esme shook her head fondly, knowing that John's pleas would fall on deaf ears but that wouldn't stop him from continuing. Like all brothers he felt a sense of duty to protect his younger sister – a job Sophie seemed to go out of her way to make difficult for him. Only a few months back John had come home from a trip into town sporting a black eye. This had sent both Rose and Esme into a flurry, for John was not usually the sort of boy to fight. It transpired they had run into some of the boys from school who had presided to call the little girl a 'ragamuffin'. Though Rose had scolded the boy soundly, it was an open secret between Esme and her parents that all three of them were secretly quite proud of the boy for his actions.

"Got you!" Sophie's triumphant shout echoed through the air. Esme could only see the back of her sister now. Her pale pink dress had several small rips on the skirt and her blonde curls was now nothing more than tangles. Esme could see a green leaf stuck in among all the yellow.

"Esme, John, hold Spot back!" she ordered. It was a tone she often used – the one which made it all too obvious who the imperious little girl thought was in charge.

"Why?" John asked cautiously. "Sophie, what are you going to do?" he called. His voice betrayed his concern.

"Sophie?" Esme's voice echoed John's worry.

"Just hold him tight!" Sophie called back, her impatience beginning to make an appearance. "Three, two, one!" A large yowl filled the air and John managed to grab hold of the dog's collar just in time. It was pulling against him for all it was worth, snarling and growling at the grey blur quickly running in the opposite direction.

Esme knelt beside the dog and tried to calm him, stroking and patting him. "That was cruel, Sophie," she scolded.

"How else was I suppose to get the cat down?" she asked innocently.

"You shouldn't have gone up," Esme countered, still stroking the harassed dog.

"But then it would have been stuck up here," Sophie pointed out.

"You should have gone and asked Father to get his ladder," Esme pointed out.

"That's what I said," John huffed. Esme smiled reassuringly at her younger brother.

"Esme?" The fear in Sophie's voice instantly caught her sister's attention for it was not something she heard very often. She snapped her gaze back up to the tree. Her sister was clinging onto a branch for dear life, looking down at the ground apprehensively. "I can't get down!" she cried.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you went," John snapped sarcastically.

"Not the time, John," Esme muttered to him warningly. He scowled then wilted under his older sister's glare, looking down at the ground guiltily.

"Sorry, Esme," he muttered.

"Apologize to Sophie, not me," she pointed out.

"Sorry, Sophie," he shouted upwards.

"It's OK," Sophie replied, but her voice shook slightly. Cautiously, she tried to lower her foot to the next branch. "I can't do it," she sobbed. Esme glanced towards the farmhouse – surely Sophie's shouts were loud enough to alert her parents. However, she was not greeted with the relaxing sight of one of her parents making an appearance.

"John, go get the ladder," Esme ordered, trying to keep calm. John nodded and ran quickly towards the shed beside the farmhouse. Esme imagined he was simply relieved to do something to help.

A gust of wind shook the tree. "Esme, help!" Sophie sobbed.

"It's OK, John will back soon with a ladder," Esme called up to her sister soothingly.

Soon she spotted the boy struggling to carry it across the grass and hurried to help him.

"Esme!" she heard her sister's desperate call at her departing back.

"I'll be right back," she shouted. Reaching her little brother, he smiled gratefully at her as she grabbed an end of the ladder. Between the two of them, they managed to quickly bring it to the tree where Sophie was watching them. Esme was shocked to see her little sister was crying. Her sweet face was marked with tear-tracks.

"Lean it against the trunk," Esme ordered. After a little fumbling they managed to prop the ladder against the tree. "Hold it tight," Esme told her younger brother, who nodded grimly. Carefully, she began her climb up the ladder. She gasped quietly to herself when it shook slightly. She stopped to regain her balance, as she did so she couldn't help but glance downwards at her brother. She noted his serious face but also couldn't help but notice how far away the ground was. With a deep breath she continued her climb determinedly until she was scrambling onto a tree branch.

"Esme!" Sophie shouted in relief from the tree branch above her. Esme took a few wobbly steps along the branch, unable to avoid thinking how stupid coming up here in a full-length skirt had been. When she came to be below her sister she held her hand out.

"I can't," Sophie wailed.

"Come on, Soph, you can do it," Esme told her reassuringly. This had to be the most scared she had ever seen her sister and it was unsettling. "I'll get you, I promise."

"O, OK," Sophie snivelled. Holding onto her sister's hands tightly she made the jump down to the branch below her. Esme felt the relief course through her at seeing her sister at last part of the way down safely. She couldn't be fully relieved until they were both back on solid ground.

"Now go to the ladder." Still wiping tears away, Sophie hesitantly walked back along the branch. John cheered when she reached the ladder. As her sister began her descent, Esme reached the tree's trunk and clung onto it in relief. She watched her sister's return to Earth carefully.

"You next, Esme," John called up, tightening his grip on the ladder once more. Esme felt light-headed her as she began her return to solid ground as she celebrated the fact that they would both make it down safely. But she had only stepped down a few rungs when suddenly the solid wood of the ladder was not under her feet any more. It took Esme a few seconds to realize what had happened. All she had felt was a rush of wind swirl past her and then an intense pain through her leg. A calamity of noise surrounded her as she tried to recover her bearings.

"Sophie, Sophie, get Papa! Now!" John's panicked voice washed over her and she felt him at her side. "Esme, are you alright?"

"My leg," she moaned, trying to move said limb. She gasped as another spasm of pain ran through her caused by her attempts at movement.

"Esme!" She heard her father's voice in the distance. He soon arrived by her side as well and she turned to look at his panicked face. "Esme! What happened?"

"I fell from the tree," she managed to say through gritted teeth. She saw her father's face cloud with confusion.

"Why were you up a tree?" he asked disdainfully.

"She was rescuing Sophie," John chipped in before Esme could decide whether to tell on her sister or not. Sophie scowled in her big brother's direction.

"Sophie!" their father scolded.

"I was rescuing the kitty," Sophie replied defiantly. Her father sighed heavily.

"If you can call that rescuing," John mumbled. Sophie stuck her tongue out at him, making sure her father didn't see.

Esme watched this conversation silently. She didn't dare move from her awkward position on the floor for fear of jolting her leg again.

"What in Heavens is going on out here?" Esme recognized her mother's voice with a soaring heart. Her Mama always knew what to do.

"Esme, what's wrong?" she asked as she joined her family and kneeled beside her daughter. She examined her daughter's leg which was stuck out awkwardly from beneath her skirts.

"My leg," Esme managed to say. "I think I've broken it," she murmured shakily.

Her mother continued to study her leg critically, looking it up and down.

"You'll have to take her to hospital, Richard," she told her father.

Esme felt a couple of unbidden tears slip onto her cheek then and she quickly wiped them away. She had never been to the hospital before but it sounded like a scary prospect. She didn't want to go.

"Can't, can't you fix it here?" she stammered.

Her mother stroked her hair comfortingly. "Not if it's broken."

Esme sighed in defeat. "Fine," she agreed. She tried to keep her reluctance out of her voice but it was still plain to hear.

"I'll go get the cart," her father announced.

John and Sophie were watching their sister with worried eyes.

"Do you want me to come with you?" John asked. Esme smiled weakly. For all his stuffiness her brother was also one of the sweetest boys she'd ever met.

"I don't think that's for the best, John," his mother told him.

"What about me?" Sophie called.

"Definitely not." Her mother's voice was stern but Esme saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Will you come, Mama?" she asked, not caring how childish she sounded.

Her mother shook her head. "I have to watch your siblings," she replied softly. "Your father will take good care of you."

"I know," Esme murmured. "Make sure Sophie doesn't get up anymore trees," she told her mother, trying to joke.

This time her mother allowed herself to smile. "So that's how this all started. That girl. What am I going to do with her?" Her words were negated by the fond way she shook her head.

"Nothing?" Sophie suggested with her best smile. John rolled his eyes.

"John take Sophie back up to the house," she ordered. She turned to her youngest daughter. "We'll talk about this once we've sorted out your sister, OK?"

"Yes, Mama." The little girl hung her head. Though Esme had every reason to be annoyed at her sister, the sight simply warmed her heart.

"Come on, Sophie." John grabbed hold of his sister's hand and began leading her away.

"Don't be too harsh on her, Mama," Esme pleaded.

Her mother looked at her, concerned. "Would you say I am ever 'too harsh', Esme?"

Esme bit her lip thoughtful before shaking her head. Both of them looked up at the sound of the approaching horse and cart.

"I can't get up," Esme admitted.

"But your arm around my shoulder." Esme did as she was told and then tried to move. After a few seconds she fell back to the floor, crying out in pain.

"Wait for your father. You'll need both our support," her mother suggested. She used the voice that Esme knew had to be listened to for the best.

Once she was propped between both her parents, Esme slowly and painfully hobbled over to the waiting cart. With great difficulty she managed to seat herself.

"Bye, Mama," she cried. For some reason she was tearful. She told herself sternly to stop being so silly. She would go to the hospital and have her leg fixed and then return home – that was all. She comforted herself by telling herself that she would probably be home by evening - there was no need to be acting like she would never see her mother again.

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><p><strong>Writer's block is a pain. I have all these ideas about where I want this story to go but getting the first chapter written was a struggle.<strong>

**Reviews are greatly appreciated :) What do you think of this version of human Esme and her family?**


	3. The Patient

Carlisle could never feel truly tired, but his mind –so much more active than a human's – felt almost numb. How was it, that with a perfect memory and crystal clear vision, his days had begun to blur into one? When had each patient began to feel exactly the same as the last? Was it this small hospital - where there was nothing more interesting than the occasional broken bone, at least for a so-called 'new' doctor such as himself?

Carlisle wondered when his days had gotten so mundane. But he knew the situation would only be worse if he didn't have his work to occupy his time. It was the one true comfort he had – the thought that he was helping others. That what he was could be a gift as well as a curse. But it was a tainted gift none the less. For he could help the humans that came to the hospital in search of aid but no one could ever help him. He was eternally and irrevocably alone.

He noticed how desolate his thoughts had become and contemplated when they had begun to be that way. He remembered himself as a young vampire – overjoyed at discovering his alternative source of feeding and the idea that he was not a monster. What had happened to his optimism? Where was the fulfilment he had first felt for mastering his control over his bloodlust and being able to pursue his chosen career?

He found himself pondering these disheartened questions more and more both inside the hospital and out. The answer differed depending on his location. They bothered him somewhat less whilst he worked. Sometimes he could still feel the old contentment while in his place of work. The feeling of achievement. The comforting notion that he was doing some good in this world despite the odds. He felt it when he saw a little girl's smile. Or a look of relief in a mother's eyes. But then there was the times when he felt detached from his patients, as if he was just going through the motions, putting on an act. Which he was – which he always had to do. But he'd never felt like he was pretending to be a doctor before. For this work was what he did, what he had done for over a century, and he knew nothing else. He could never turn his back on it, it meant too much to him, but it had lost its spark. What had caused him to once feel such passion for his work had now gone.

When he was at home the answer seemed more obvious. It was his home (if he could even call it that) which was the problem. The silence and the solitude were finally getting to him. All he had was his work, but even that could not provide him with proper company. For he could never risk the chance of someone truly getting to know him. His secret was too great to be careless with it. Nobody could see him too closely. For they would see the cracks in the façade – see through his many numerous lies- and he would have to leave that much sooner. And that was ultimately the problem, he always had to leave. He could never care for people because it would hurt him all the more to let them go. Not that that stopped him. It was in his very nature to care about the people around him, either colleague or patient, he could just never let them care about him in return. That would be dangerous for all involved. So he went through life observing and watching and being concerned without anyone ever knowing or sharing that concern.

Was this, perhaps, the reason for his recent detachment from his work? Was his subconscious working to save him? After centuries of this pain, had he finally hurt himself so badly he had to fight to prevent it from happening again?

"Thank you, doctor." The man stood up from his chair and looked at Carlisle cautiously. Carlisle had been so lost in his own thoughts he had barely paid attention as he stitched the man's injured hand up, but he knew he had still done a satisfactory job. With a vampire's expanded mind, barely an attention was still enough.

"You're welcome."

The man nodded his head and scurried out the room, as though he was in a rush to get away from his doctor.

Carlisle had to resist the urge to sigh. If it weren't for the fact that he had nothing to return home to, he imagined he would be counting down the hours to when his shift ended. He didn't, however, feel any such urge to check his pocket watch. At least here in the hospital he could be of some use – no matter how mind-numbingly trivial it felt.

He leaned back in his chair and let the sounds of the hospital wash over him. Nurses chatted. The ailing moaned in their sleep. A doctor chatted to his patient. A mother fussed over her ill child. Skin was sewed up. Each noise was clear and defined and yet they still created a cacophony of sound around him.

He stood up and decided he may as well learn where else he was needed. As he left the room his hearing picked up the sound of heavy footsteps further down the corridor. Whoever they belonged to, it sounded as if they were struggling to carry a heavy load. It was not entirely what he'd had in mind, but he was sure he could be of some help to them.

He found a men in his early forties struggling to carry a young woman in his arms. Judging by their similar hair colouring, they were related. He assumed the man was the girl's father.

"Need any help?" he asked. The man jumped slightly and Carlisle saw his hold on the young woman become even more precarious.

"My daughter broke her leg," the man informed him. His daughter's eyes widened in shock as she took in Carlisle's appearance. He was use to this by now. It was a common reaction among both genders, though the speeded heartbeat of the girl was usually only confined to her own gender.

"If you follow me," Carlisle announced, leading them to the first unoccupied room he could find. He listened very carefully to the man's struggle, just in case his hold should slip and he should drop the girl. He knew from previous experiences that his attempts to offer help would be rebuffed and taken as an insult, but he wanted to be prepared to save her should she nearly fall. To start with, he was sure it would hurt her greatly if she were to be dropped onto an already broken leg.

The man placed his daughter onto the bed as Carlisle excused himself to go and collect the necessary equipment and forms.

"What's your name?" he asked her upon his return.

"Esme Platt." She stuttered slightly, clearly still unnerved by his presence.

He wrote this down on the form before passing it to her father for the rest of the necessary details.

Her hazel eyes scrutinized him carefully as he did this. She must have realized he had noticed, for her gaze flickered downwards to stare at her skirt. A red blush spread through her cheeks. His eyes were drawn to the spreading red, for just a few seconds he felt the pull of bloodlust he hadn't struggled against for so long. She smelt succulent. A rush of desire filled him – to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelt. He forced himself to pull his gaze away from her glowing cheeks. Neither of the humans in the room seemed to have noticed anything, for which he was thankful. The girl's eyes were still carefully looking anywhere but his face. She looked so bashful he had to resist the urge to chuckle.

"What happened to your leg?" he asked, turning his attention to said injured limb. He dimly noticed as her father excused himself from the room. He realized she was old enough for him to feel it inappropriate to be in the room when her skirt was lifted to see her leg.

"I fell out of a tree," she admitted. She bit her lip. Her gaze did not look up from her skirt.

This time -unable to stop himself- he did chuckle. Her blush turned a slightly darker shade of red. But he had acclimatized to her scent now, though he had to acknowledge that he would have to hunt once his shift was over.

He cursed himself for laughing at her, he had no desire to embarrass her.

"I need to lift your skirt to look at your leg," he warned her. She briefly looked up at him before ducking her head downwards again. She gave the smallest of nods.

"Is that OK?" he prompted, hoping to get her to speak again.

"Yes," she agreed.

With great care he peeled back the layers of her skirt until it rested above her knee. The bottom half of her right calf twisted out at an abnormal angle.

"This is quite an extraordinary break," he told her.

"Why do I get a feeling that isn't a good thing?" she asked him. He was taken back by her sudden boldness. He looked up from her leg to her face again. Her eyes widened as she clearly realized what she had just said.

"Sorry," she mumbled. The blush was back worse than ever. She was fiddling with the bed sheet and this was were her gaze now fell. He imagined she no longer wished to look at her skirts now they were round her knees.

He smiled reassuringly at her, though he doubted she saw his efforts. "It's fine."

He called for a nurse to bring water and plaster.

"So, why were you up a tree?" he asked, turning his attention back to his still blushing patient. He was surprised to find he did not have to force the interest into his voice.

"Rescuing my sister." 

"Why was your sister up a tree?"

"She was rescuing a cat." He opened his mouth to ask the inevitable next question but she beat him to it. "And the cat was up a tree because our dog chased it." She smiled slightly in his direction. He noticed she was finally looking at him again.

The nurse arrived then with a cart containing the water and plaster bandages. He looked once more at her disfigured leg and wished he could provide her with some form of pain relief. But in such a small hospital the supply was limited and reserved for bigger injuries.

Esme was also staring at the nurse and her cart.

"I'm going to set your leg now," he told her. She visibly grimaced.

"Will it hurt?" she asked anxiously. She was biting her lip again.

He wished he had a different answer for her. "It will be over quickly," he told her, well aware that this did not answer her question properly. The flicker of fear that crossed her face told him she had understood what he had not said all too clearly.

"Can't be any worse than the journey here," she mumbled, supposedly to herself. He decided not to correct this motion.

_No point in prolonging the inevitable_, he thought to himself as he moved to grasp her leg between both his hands. With a careful, well-practised movement, he realigned the bone.

Her scream of pain cut through him. By the time he looked up at her face she was crying.

The nurse passed him the first piece of plaster bandage, already wet. With the same detachment of nearly everyone in the hospital, she was ignoring her patient's plight, well aware it was necessary.

Somehow, despite the many centuries of experience he had on his human colleagues, Carlisle has never been able to reach this level of detachment. Not when someone was in pain, at least. He has given it great thought and decided that perhaps it was because he knew what it was like to have no one care. He could never wish that on another person – even if they would never think about him again the moment they had left the hospital.

"Thank you. I can take things from here," he told the nurse. She raised her eyebrows but quickly neutralized her expression.

"Of course, doctor." He had turned back to Esme before she had even left the room.

There were still tears glistening in her eyes and her cheeks were marked with tear-tracks. He almost reached out to wipe them away before stopping himself. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief.

"Here," he said, offering it to her.

She smiled weakly, still sniffing. "Thanks," she mumbled.

He diverted his attention back to her leg and the plaster bandage in his hand as she began wiping her face.

"So, why did your sister decide to rescue a cat from a tree?" He continued their previous conversation as if there had been no interruption. As he did so he began to wrap her leg in the plaster bandage.

"Because that's just the sort of thing Sophie does," she explained. He looked up at her curiously. "Mama calls her a free spirit. She does what ever she wants and never thinks about the consequences." In contrast to her words, her voice was amused as opposed to condemning.

"And what do you think about that?" He knew this question was too personal, but he couldn't resist asking.

"I worry she's going to hurt herself one day. That she'll never learn any form of restraint and when she's older it's going to lead her into even more trouble then it does now."

He leaned over and wet more plaster bandage. "How old is she?"

"Eight," Esme answered. He noticed she was smiling slightly – it was easy to tell she loved her sister.

"Still plenty of time to grow up then."

"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "I don't think she wants to though."

"What about you?" Again he knew the question was too personal.

"I'm already grown up," she told him.

He glanced down at the sheet her father had partially filled in, noting her date of birth.

"You're sixteen," he countered.

"I can legally marry. That's make me grown-up in my book."

"But do you feel like an adult? You may legally be allowed to marry that doesn't mean you're ready too."

He watched her carefully as she lost herself in thought.

"I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "I can help my mother around the house and help look after John and Sophie. But I'm not sure I can run my own household."

Her leg was half-bandaged by now. "And John would be your brother?" he asked.

"Yes. He's Sophie's complete opposite in about every way possible." She giggled slightly and her face was lit by the same fond smile she had worn when she spoke of her sister. It was obvious to him that the Platts were a close and loving family. He felt a familiar ache inside him. What he wouldn't give to have a family to return home to. A wife to kiss him in welcome and children excited to see their father. But all he had at home was silence and books. If he could even call his small house 'home'. It was just a place where he kept his material possessions and went to pretend to sleep. Cold and lonely, just like him. He knew he could never wish for more. Children were an impossibility and the idea of finding a mate was laughable. He was one of a kind amongst the vampire world and he knew he could never love someone who looked down on human life with the uncaring indifference that was the cornerstone of the traditional vampire's lifestyle.

As he got lost in his own fruitless thoughts, Esme was still talking about her family. "John likes to play by the rules and Sophie never thinks twice about breaking them." She was grinning now. Obviously this large difference of personalities between her two siblings amused her.

"And what about you?"

"Mama says I'm between the two of them."

"What do you think of that?"

"I think she's right. I only break the rules for a good reason."

"Such as?" he probed.

She thought about it for a moment. "Stealing John's textbook so he'll relax for a minute instead of being so stressed. Though admittedly that was originally Sophie's idea and I doubt her intentions were as good."

He chuckled at her. He found himself placing her bandages at a pace that was slow even for a human so as to extend the conversation. This was the longest conversation he had held with anyone in awhile. It seemed unnecessary to rush it when God only knew when he would get to speak to someone at such length again.

"Though I'd say the main one is that I'm always sneaking the dog back into the house at night. He just looks so miserable and alone outside. I think Papa has given up trying to keep him in his kennel. He just knows he's going to show up in my bedroom the next morning." She laughed cheerfully to herself. Her face lit up and her eyes sparkled with merriment. His laugh mingled with hers.

"Would this be the same dog that chased a cat up a tree and ultimately caused your fall from the very same tree?"

"Yes. Maybe I should let Papa put him in the kennel tonight." He could tell she was only joking. She clearly loved this dog more than anyone had ever loved him.

"I don't think I'd get away with putting Sophie in a kennel though," she continued. Her face was thoughtful but she was plainly not really considering the possibility.

"I imagine your parents would be less than impressed by that idea," he commented dryly.

She snorted with laughter and then covered her mouth in shame. But then he saw the corners of her mouth – just visible beneath her hands – turn up into smile. She removed her hands, still grinning.

"I imagine Sophie would actually be the most enthusiastic if I was to suggest that possibility," she informed him with a slight laugh. "Not that I would," she amended quickly.

"Of course not," he agreed.

They were both silent for a few moments as he continued his bandaging of her leg with ever slowing movements.

"What about you, doctor?" she asked. He could see the curiosity etched onto her face. Her head was tilted slightly to the left as she observed him.

He contemplated her question for a few seconds.

"Sorry," she said hastily. "I didn't mean to intrude." The blush had returned and she was once more intensely interested in the bed sheets on her left hand side. He could hear her heartbeat thumping away frantically and it upset him that he had made her so nervous.

He couldn't help but think how ironic the idea that she was the one intruding was, considering he had been intruding on the details of her life for the last fifteen minutes.

"I was just thinking over my answer," he told her reassuringly.

"Oh," she muttered. She took a deep, calming breath. He wished he could reassure her better than that but failed to think of anything else to say that would manage to do so.

"Overall, I'd say I usually follow the rules." Though his rules were very different to hers. Not only those the Volturi opposed on all his kind, but those he forced on himself. Including the one he was breaking right now – that he should never get too emotionally attached to a human. For he would only have to leave them behind.

"Overall?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. He couldn't help but be amused that she could still be so bold to him after being so nervous only a few seconds earlier. By the sound of things she was more like her sister than she would ever care to admit.

"Sometimes I break them for a good cause," he told her with a smile. She giggled then.

"Finished," he proclaimed. He wondered if she heard the sadness in his voice.

"Thank you, doctor," she said with a smile.

"You're welcome."

"Is Papa still outside?" she asked, glancing towards the door.

"I imagine so." He knew the man was. He imagined he would have been able to know this with or without his extraordinary senses. He highly doubted any father would go very far when his daughter was getting treated. "I'll just go and inform him we're finished."

Her father was stood against the wall, facing the door to the room. He looked relieved to see Carlisle.

"How's her leg?" he asked. Carlisle could see in him the same love for his family that projected out of his daughter. He refused to acknowledge the growing ache inside him when he thought of the idea of having a family to love like this man did.

"I've reset her leg and placed it in a plaster cast. It should heal perfectly fine." He gestured inside the room with his hands to tell Mr. Platt he was allowed to re-enter. He quickly hurried to his daughter's bedside.

"How are you?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," she told him. She was smiling reassuringly at him, as though she didn't want him to worry.

"Let's get you home." He began to attempt to try to help his daughter of her bed. Carlisle watched them with an increasing sadness inside him. The first person he had opened up to in decades and she was about to walk out the door for good.

"It would be better if she stayed the night," Carlisle interrupted. Esme was already stood up, clinging to her father for support as she struggled to balance with her leg in plaster.

Mr. Platt looked at him in confusion. "What for?" he asked.

Carlisle had to admit that was an excellent question. "For observation," he lied.

"Observation?"

"To make sure the bone has set properly." He was lying through his teeth now but he doubted the man had enough medical knowledge to know that. "You can come back and collect her tomorrow afternoon."

He walked over to the father and daughter and gently guided Esme back into the bed. She looked perplexed but did not protest. He noticed her shiver slightly at his touch and cursed himself for forgetting about it. For just a few minutes he had felt so gloriously human – able to converse and chat with her as though he, too, was a mortal with no secrets to hide.

"Wouldn't it be easier for me to just stay here?" Mr. Platt asked. He was looking at his daughter with concern.

"Unfortunately we have no where for visitors to sleep." That much at least wasn't a lie. But Carlisle still did not understand why he was so determinedly insistent on her father leaving her behind at the hospital. He excused his behaviour by telling himself he could hardly turn around and admit to her father that he had no real reason to keep her and she could go home – not that that was much of an excuse.

Her father was glancing around the room, obviously trying to decide whether it would be possible to somehow find a place to sleep.

"I'll be fine," Esme told her father. "Go home. Tell everyone I'm OK."

Mr. Platt's gaze flickered between his daughter and her doctor for a few seconds and then his face conceded defeat.

He leant over her bed. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised her and kissed her cheek.

"I'll be fine," she repeated forcefully. "Goodbye, Papa."

With one last distrustful glance in Carlisle's direction, Mr. Platt left the room. Carlisle was used to such glares – they were an occupational hazard of being a vampire – but he couldn't help but be slightly unnerved by the one Esme's father gave him.

Esme was still watching him, he could feel her eyes on him.

"How are you feeling, Es-, Miss. Platt?"

"My leg still hurts a bit," she admitted. "But it's no where near as bad as it was." She bit her lip again and seemed to be deep in thought. "You can call me Esme, if you like," she told him shyly. Once more the blush had crept into her cheeks. He could see she was anxious for his reaction. Her heartbeat was racing again.

"Of course," he replied. "Esme." Her name sounded strange on his tongue. When was the last time he actually called someone by their first name? Not since Volterra, he realized. As for the last he called a human by their first name? He found that even with his perfect recall memory, he struggled to recall a time previous to this one.

"What's your first name?" she asked curiously.

"Carlisle," he told her. He wanted her to say it. Just as he couldn't remember ever calling a human by their first name, the last human who called him by his Christian name was most likely his own father, all those centuries ago. To colleagues and patients alike he was always 'Dr. Cullen'. This defined all his relationship – which were formal and professional. He was fully aware of his reasons for doing this and why he could never allow himself to be any closer to anyone. So why was he letting this human girl under his skin?

"Carlisle." It was one of the most glorious sounds he had ever heard, his name rolling of her tongue in her sweet voice. He struggled to keep his head straight as his heart rejoiced at such a simple sound - his name on another's lips.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked her.

"Yes, please."

"I'll go ask one of the nurse to bring you something." He paused for a few seconds. "Esme," he added with a smile. He turned and walked towards the door.

The terrible ache was back. For she, too, would walk out that door tomorrow –and, he reminded himself, it should have been today – and he would be nobody more than Dr. Cullen to the world once more.

**This is now the 3****rd**** time I've written a version of Carlisle and Esme's first meeting.**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated :)**


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